


Barking Up the Wrong Tree

by inflappible



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Is Not Prepared, Bets & Wagers, But my soul says "this is based on true events", Crack Treated Seriously, Crowley Is a Dachshund, Dogs, Ducks, Established Relationship, Geese, Gen, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mischief, My mind says "crack treated seriously", Pets, Schutzi, St James's Park (Good Omens), dachshunds, i really don't know how to tag this, like extraordinarily minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29617872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inflappible/pseuds/inflappible
Summary: Crowley loses a bet with Adam and gets turned into a dachshund for a week as punishment. Aziraphale has to deal with the consequences.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Dog & Adam Young (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: Good Omens Bingo 2021





	Barking Up the Wrong Tree

**Author's Note:**

> This fic fills the "Dog" square on my GO 2021 bingo card. Other than that, I don't know what to say about where this came from.
> 
> As a quick note, there is one minor scene here that involves an unintentional dog bite. It's _extremely_ minor and _completely_ unintentional, but I wanted to give a head's up just in case.
> 
> Lastly, this story is dedicated to my muse, a little furry terror that I love with all my heart. A special thank you to [smolhuman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolhuman), my beta, superfluous word deleter, and fellow lover of canine kind.

Aziraphale was enjoying one of his favourite books when he heard a soft scratching at the door. He glanced at his pocket watch, only slightly surprised to see that it had been eight hours since he first sat down, and smiled when he realized that it was just about dinnertime. With dinnertime often came Crowley, and with Crowley came the promise of interesting conversation and a lot of gentle chiding, something he dearly looked forward to.

As he stood, it dawned on him just how peculiar it was that Crowley hadn’t simply opened the door himself. The demon usually loved nothing more than to burst into the bookshop and startle Aziraphale, which he always made up for by treating the angel to a meal of some sort. He frowned for a moment, considering the options. Perhaps Crowley wanted to make a grand gesture and was standing outside with a bouquet of roses, waiting to take Aziraphale’s hand and lead him gently into the Bentley. Maybe he was kneeling on the steps, preparing for a lengthy and romantic proposal speech that would no doubt bring Aziraphale to tears. Possibly his arms were so full of rare first editions that he had acquired through a combination of smirks, temptations, and a whole lot of cash that he simply couldn’t open the door himself. Aziraphale knew which option he preferred.

He quickly eyed his bookshelves, imagining where his influx of riches would go, and made his way across the room. Then, after pausing for a moment to steel himself, he opened the door with a flourish.

“Crowley!” he exclaimed, beaming from ear to ear. “It’s so lovely to…”

He trailed off, not seeing any sign of the demon nor a pile of books. After a quick glance from side to side, he moved to shut the door, thinking that perhaps he hadn’t heard anything at all. But just before the door fully shut, a small snout poked through.

“Let me in, angel.” Aziraphale recognised the voice, being that it was one that couldn’t help but make him smile since it started goading him 6,000 years prior. But he noticed now that the small furry face featured bright yellow eyes, eyes which were looking at him somewhat piteously. Whether that pathos was Crowley’s doing or a natural feature of the form, he didn’t know. “There’s been a sort of mix-up.”

Aziraphale opened the door more fully, blinking in wonder as the small face gave way to even smaller legs and an unreasonably long back. The creature made its way into the bookshop before plopping down on the first carpet it caught sight of. Aziraphale said nothing, hoping that perhaps if he didn’t speak it out loud, it wouldn’t be true. After the two stared at each other for a full fifteen seconds, his curiosity got the better of him.

“Crowley, is that you in there?”

The small dog—it had to be a dog, despite how absurdly comical its proportions were—sighed heavily before leveling him with another stare. “Who else am I going to be? The Almighty?”

Aziraphale, deciding that now wasn’t the time to dwell on the complete inanity of that statement, steepled his fingers together to gather himself. Then, looking back at the small dog—er, the small Crowley—he asked, “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Crowley said nothing, opting instead to imitate his serpent form by curling into a small coil to the best of his current abilities, tucking his legs under himself and laying his head on the ground. He heaved another deep sigh.

“Do go on,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley lifted his head just enough to glare at him.

“I lost a bet,” he said finally.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and said nothing. Then, after a beat: “You lost a bet.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, a movement recognisable no matter the form. “Yes, angel. Some of us are still capable of making stupid decisions despite our age or impressive breadth of knowledge. I lost a bet, and I got turned into this for a week.”

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose, questioning why his unlimited patience only ever seemed to run low around Crowley. Even though he always loved to be around him, he was occasionally reminded that Crowley was a demon and therefore built to be at least a little bit insufferable. He took in a deep breath. “And pray, who was this bet with?”

“The former Antichrist. The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. He bet that dogs were smarter than serpents, which I happened to think was right tosh.” Crowley looked up at Aziraphale and made a sort of shrug, which seemed a remarkable feat for a creature with such tiny shoulder blades.

“And you had to turn into a dog to prove this?” Aziraphale asked, voice flat.

Crowley sighed again, making an even bigger show of it. “Of course not,” he snorted. “I said I lost the bet. You think I’d turn into this willingly?”

“One never knows with you,” Aziraphale muttered, eyes traveling pointedly between the small dog and the photo of Crowley in serpent form on his desk.

“That’s different and you know it,” Crowley retorted. “That’s my natural form. This abomination is what happens when you try and fail to teach a snake new tricks. The stupid thing couldn’t even catch a frisbee.”

With this, Aziraphale turned around, hoping that perhaps by putting some distance between the two of them, he could begin to follow Crowley’s train of thought. He made his way towards the stairs, intending to make himself a cup of tea. However, when he reached the bottom, he noticed a distinct patter behind him.

“I’m just going to go put the kettle on, my dear,” he reassured Crowley, not bothering to turn around. “Wait for me down here.”

“Can’t,” muttered Crowley. “This stupid body won’t let me.”

Aziraphale, having already started up the stairs, didn’t hear him. “It’s probably for the best that you don’t test those little legs of yours on these steps, hmm?” he said, chuckling to himself. However, as he reached the top of the stairs, there was a clear bang, a slipping sound, desperate scrabbling, and a solid thud. Aziraphale didn’t dare turn around until he was forced to by the emergence of a soft whine.

“Crowley, what in Heaven’s name are you doing? I told you to wait downstairs.”

“I told you, I can’t!” Crowley whined, crouching as if ready to try the stairs again. “This body won’t let me. It’s demanding that I follow you wherever you go.”

Aziraphale had to physically stop himself from remarking on how cute that was by biting his lip. Evidently, Crowley knew what he was going to say anyway and barked.

“Stop that!” Aziraphale said suddenly, looking horrified. “There is no barking in this shop!”

“Then don’t you dare give me that look. There’s nothing cute about this.”

“Adorable then?” Aziraphale said, casually making his way down the steps. “Endearing?” Step. “Delightful?” Step. “Winsome?” Then, pausing on the last step for emphasis, “Cute as a button?”

Crowley growled. “I’ll pee on your leg. I swear to Someone I will.”

“Oh, but you wouldn’t dare, you darling thing!” Aziraphale said, bending over to offer the small demon his arms. Crowley seriously considered carrying out his threat for a moment before sighing and nodding to Aziraphale to pick him up. “Now let’s go find a comfortable place for you to sit while we discuss this a bit more, shall we?”

Then, because Aziraphale had started scratching his ears, Crowley abandoned all attempts at a witty response.

* * *

“So you mean to tell me that Adam chose this form for you?” Aziraphale was seated across from an empty chair in the kitchen, cup of tea in hand and Crowley in lap. He had pulled up what he thought was a perfectly comfortable kitchen chair, only to have Crowley whine as soon as Aziraphale placed him there. Although he preferred to drink his tea in peace—that is to say, without having to balance a wiggly demon in his lap—he figured that since the whole ordeal had taken a lot out of Crowley, it was worth indulging him a bit. It turned out to be far more than a bit, for Crowley was now curled up blissfully in Aziraphale’s lap, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but be the slightest bit amazed at how much room Crowley managed to take up for such a small creature. He was used to Crowley’s constant slouching and draping and spreading out as much as possible, and it seemed as if that ability wasn’t limited to his human form. 

Crowley, surprisingly blasé about the whole situation, was resting with his head down, tongue practically lolling out of his mouth. He didn’t even make a move to respond to Aziraphale’s question until he felt the tap on his head. Crowley let out a long sigh and opened one eye to look at him.

“I suppose you could say that. Although it was my fault, really, for suggesting that dog R.P. Tyler’s got.”

Aziraphale hummed and started stroking Crowley’s head, similarly to how he would do when Crowley was in human form and asleep in his lap. “How exactly did his dog get brought into this?”

“Well I wasn’t going to go against the hellhound, was I? I knew better than to try my luck against him. No snake besides me is going to stand a chance.” He paused, burrowing his face a bit further into Aziraphale’s lap, muffling his next comment. “Besides, it’s not like I thought he’d take it seriously. I figured he’d just, you know, conjure one up.”

Aziraphale’s hand stilled completely, and he leaned over and looked Crowley in the face. “Crowley,” he said, eyes narrowing, “please tell me you are not currently in possession of Mr. Tyler’s dog.” Then his eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open in horror. “Or that currently _possessing_ her?”

Crowley blinked at him disdainfully. “Of course not. How could I possibly share a body with a half-foot ankle biter?”

Aziraphale thought it better not to mention that Crowley had been called worse better in Genesis 3:15.[1]

Crowley continued. “We gave the little terror back immediately after we were finished. Old R.P. didn’t even notice she was gone thanks to a well-placed miracle and a few actor friends of mine.[2] But in any case,” he paused to let out a deep sigh, “Adam and I had agreed to take the exact form of the loser. I still maintain he would’ve looked really stupid as an Arabian Sand Boa.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, “what are we going to do with you?” He gently tapped (read: booped) Crowley on the nose for emphasis.

Crowley buried his snout in Aziraphale’s jacket, while Aziraphale began creating a mental list of supplies he would need to properly care for Crowley during the week. He may not know much about dogs, but he knew how to handle snakes and Crowley. Surely that would be enough.

* * *

It was fortunate that the rain managed to hold off until Aziraphale was back from his shopping trip. Crowley had been adamant that he come along, all but launching himself through the door, and Aziraphale had had to gently but firmly shove him back inside.

“My dear boy,” he called through the window, “I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. You can wait by yourself for a bit, and if you’re good, you can have a treat.” He chuckled to himself at the image of Crowley sitting prettily in anticipation of a bone.[3]

Crowley responded by barking, and barking, and barking, and barking. Aziraphale let the noise fade into the distance as he hurried to the pet shop, biting his lip worriedly as he did. He did feel bad leaving his poor friend behind, but he wanted the journey to be as pain-free as possible. His only experience thwarting Crowley’s wiles was while the demon was in human form—not like you could call the Garden of Eden a success, after all—and he wasn’t sure if he would be as successful at thwarting a squirmy sausage dog. Luckily, the pet shop he had in mind was only a short walk away.

Aziraphale headed back to his own shop laden with dog food, treats, chew toys, tennis balls, plushies, nylon ropes, a bed, and some assorted clothing precariously stuffed into bulging bags. He had disclosed his lack of knowledge to a shop associate who had been enormously helpful, although they _had_ tried to dissuade him from buying so many toys at once.

“You may want to wait until you know what he likes,” they suggested after seeing Aziraphale put yet another tin of tennis balls into his basket.

“ _He_ doesn’t even know what he likes,” Aziraphale retorted and grabbed a second snake toy, just in case.

Aziraphale hurried back, eager to see Crowley’s reaction to all the new treats. As he approached the bookshop, he was pleased to note that Crowley was no longer barking.

“Crowley,” he announced as he stepped through the door, taking care to check where he put his feet lest he step on a small tail, “I’ve brought you something I think you’ll enjoy.” He set the bag on the nearest surface and listened carefully for the sound of small feet.

After a few beats, he tried again. “Crowley?” he called. “Where have you gone off to?”

He walked around the bookshop, peering behind bookshelves. Noting the thick layer of dust, he resolved to clean up a bit later, having read that dog noses were particularly sensitive. Then, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he searched his backroom, carefully setting aside books and shuffling the pillows. There was nothing unusual there either, save for the lack of Crowley, who was almost always in this room, dog or not.

“Crowley?” he called again, voice tinged with concern. “I can’t very well give you your reward if I don’t know where you are.” He began pulling off the couch cushions, hoping to see a piece of fur or something, and moved to grabbing things off his desk when he didn’t find any. His movements became more and more frantic until he was very near to the point of tossing books aside to look for him.

“Crowley, I swear if you don’t—” he started before he heard a suppressed but emphatic sigh. He followed the noise, coming upon a small brown, furry bundle he had somehow missed. Actually, considering that he found the bundle wedged behind the curtains, he thought that perhaps it had been intentional. He kneeled down to get a better look, gently nudging the curtains to the side.

“Crowley, were you hiding from me?”

Crowley said nothing but eyed him warily. The whites of his eyes were visible, and he looked incredibly hurt. Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to gather him in his arms.

“I thought you were gone forever,” he said.

“Really, my dear,” Aziraphale said, reaching out a hand to stroke furry ears. “I told you it would only take me a moment.”

“Yes, but it felt like forever. And I was all alone and by myself and had nothing to do. There was no sign of you, no angelic scent to follow, nothing. I resigned myself to starving to death alone in this dusty old bookshop.” He leaned into Aziraphale’s touch, at which point Aziraphale noticed a sliver of tartan fabric under Crowley’s paws.

“What have you got there?” he asked, reaching out to grab the fabric. Crowley shuffled further on top of it, obscuring it with his body completely.

“’S nothing,” Crowley said. Then, “I found it like this.”

“Found what like this?” Aziraphale asked, just as he managed to grab a corner peeking out under Crowley’s head. He gave it a gentle tug, and Crowley scooted again to cover it up.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale warned, “let me see it.”

“Okay, but in my defence,” Crowley said, rolling off as Aziraphale pulled, “not only did it already look like that, but I thought you were gone forever and might have panicked a bit. So really, this is on you.”

Aziraphale held up the tattered remains of his favourite tartan dish towel. Granted, it was only his third favourite (out of the three he owned), but it still qualified. “You know,” he said, raising his eyebrows at Crowley, “I’ve had this towel for a century now, and funnily enough, I don’t ever recall there being a large hole in it.”

“It just fell apart when I grabbed it,” Crowley tried again, not making eye contact. “I really didn’t even do anything.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, looking between the towel and Crowley, “it’s quite unfortunate that it only started showing signs of neglect when I wasn’t around. Rather impressive, actually.” He put down the towel and tried to look Crowley in the eye. “Would you care to tell me why you were hiding, then?”

Crowley looked away, glancing over occasionally before darting his eyes forward again. “Any chance you’d believe me if I said I just happened to end up over here?”

Aziraphale sighed, opening his arms to Crowley, who leapt into them immediately. He silently prayed that this was not indicative of how the week was going to go.

* * *

Aziraphale was doing his very best to get used to Crowley’s new form, though it proved surprisingly more difficult than he had anticipated. Perhaps it wasn’t so much the form’s fault as the fact that it gave the demon residing within a new opportunity to be a menace. He pondered the small dog currently sitting on the floor, staring up at him with enormous yellow eyes. Every time Aziraphale tried to ignore him and go back to eating his meal, he’d hear a small whine. After about the fifth time, he finally put his fork down.

“Is there some way I can be of assistance?” he asked, doing his best to hold back an eye roll.

Crowley’s face lit up at the sound of Aziraphale’s voice. “Can I have some of that?” he responded, pulling his eyelids back a bit further to really accentuate his puppy dog eyes. Though he probably meant it to be cute, it came off as rather demonic. Which actually may have been his intention in the first place.

“Absolutely not. You’ve already eaten, and you’re not supposed to eat human food when you’re in that form.” Considering the matter finished, Aziraphale turned back to his plate. He managed only one bite before he saw something brown flash in the corner of his eye. It was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, so Aziraphale chose to ignore it. Unfortunately, it appeared again, and then once more. He studied the ceiling for a moment, deciding whether or not he could get away with a tiny miracle that would allow him to eat his meal in peace. Then, upon realising that he would rather not bring this situation to the attention of anyone upstairs, opted to face it head on. He peered around the table again just as Crowley was crouched, preparing himself to jump again. 

“Crowley!” he shouted, startling Crowley into a seated position. “You will cease that behaviour immediately.”

Crowley looked at him, whined, and crouched again. Aziraphale was up from his seat in an instant.

“My dear boy, what’s got into you?” He lifted a squirmy Crowley in his arms, who was doing his very best to wriggle out of Aziraphale’s grasp in order to see the table. Aziraphale attempted to readjust him several times before giving up, deciding instead to hold Crowley out in front of him and force eye contact. He was met with the most pleading look.

“Please, just one bite,” Crowley pouted. Aziraphale had no doubt that if he had the ability, Crowley would be sticking his bottom lip out right now.

“You don’t even like food,” Aziraphale responded emphatically. “I have never once seen you eat in your human form, and you’ve already eaten twice today.”

“I am starving to death,” Crowley said earnestly. “I have never been so hungry in my entire existence.”

Aziraphale’s brows furrowed. “I gave you the requisite amount of food. Was it not enough? I can give you a bit more of your kibble if you are really that desperate.”

Crowley shook his head. “I don’t want that. I want what you’re eating.”

Aziraphale eyed him suspiciously. “I thought you were starving.”

“I am.” Crowley craned his head to look over Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Besides, you have enough for the both of us.”

“I do not! I have the perfect amount for myself and myself alone.” Crowley wiggled again, and Aziraphale was reminded that perhaps this wasn’t the proper way to hold a dachshund. If he was still learning how to handle this new form of Crowley’s, perhaps he would do well to excuse Crowley for not understanding it either.

He set him back on the ground and made his way back over to the table. “If I give you a small bite,” he warned, “do you promise to stop begging me for more?”

Crowley grinned. “Absolutely.”

Aziraphale sliced off a small piece of Cornish hen and set it at Crowley’s feet. It was gobbled up immediately.

Satisfied, he returned to his meal, which _was_ rather delicious and not at all suitable for scarfing down the way the demon just had. He sliced off a piece for himself and held the fork up to his mouth before he heard another whine. At this, he slammed his fork down and stood up, glaring over the table.

“You gave me your word!” Aziraphale hissed. “One piece, and you would stop this nonsense. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m a demon, remember?” Crowley smirked. “Your fault for taking me at my word.”

Wordlessly, Aziraphale picked up his plate and stomped off to the bedroom in hopes of eating in silence.

* * *

Later that evening, he sat down to read the book about dachshunds he had purchased, hoping to find out what other quirks of the breed he should prepare for, lest Crowley trick him again. Crowley was curled up in his bed a few feet away, seemingly asleep. He was completely still, other than the occasional paw twitch in pursuit of whatever it was he was dreaming about. Though he would never tell Crowley, knowing that the demon would be thoroughly and irreparably offended, Aziraphale did find this form rather cute in spite of its quirks.

He sipped his cocoa and marveled at the photos. Who knew there were so many varieties! Crowley looked to be a short-haired specimen with a red coat. He had all the markings of the breed: short legs, long body, floppy ears, barrel chest. In fact, he was so perfect he could almost be a show dog, although Aziraphale strongly doubted that Crowley would find this much of a compliment.

He read for several hours, totally absorbed. He had no idea that dogs could be so fascinating. Regrettably, he had missed the creation of the dachshund, so discovering that its strange proportions had been purposefully crafted came as somewhat of a shock.

“Crowley, did you know that dachshunds were bred for hunting badgers? The name actually translates directly from German: ‘badger dog,’” Aziraphale said, not really expecting an answer. “And your feet! They were perfectly designed for digging, which is why some refer to them as ‘shovel paws.’” He chuckled, delighted with the image it conjured. “Do you feel any urge to dig? Chase after badgers? Sneak into small holes?”

The question was met with silence, and Aziraphale carried on. “Apparently your teeth were carefully crafted as well. I must confess that I did find them particularly disconcerting, considering your small size, but according to the book, that’s the point. Badgers are scary fellows, or so I’ve heard, and your teeth are meant to make them think twice about attacking you.”

Crowley still didn’t answer, and Aziraphale supposed he was still asleep. He glanced over to Crowley’s bed to make sure that he hadn’t accidentally offended his poor friend, when he noticed it was empty.

“Crowley?” he called to the empty room. He looked between his book and the empty bed, trying to decide if he should go after the demon. The decision was made for him when a large clang sounded in the distance.

He hurried in the direction of the sound and found in the kitchen an overturned bin, a pile of garbage, and a remorseless Crowley. At second glance, he noticed Crowley had something in his mouth.

“Spit that out this instant!” he said, and reached for Crowley. At this, Crowley took off down the hall with his prize. Aziraphale raced after him as quickly as he could while avoiding the smattering of trash that lined his floor.

“Crowley!” he shouted. “Get back here, you fiend!” Crowley looked back for an instant before ducking around a corner, paws thudding as he went. Aziraphale followed, careful to avoid knocking over the piles of books he had stacked around his flat. They had never posed a problem before, but now they only worked to Crowley’s advantage. He whirled around the corner and saw the small dog, gnawing furiously at whatever he had grabbed from the bin. Aziraphale stormed up to him, and Crowley backed himself further into the corner, prize still firmly in his jaws.

“Give me that,” Aziraphale demanded as he held out his hand. Crowley shook his head, and Aziraphale crouched until he was eye level with the beast.

“You are absolutely intolerable. Hand that over, or you will face judgment.” Crowley curled in on himself a bit but didn’t let go.

Aziraphale couldn’t let Crowley continue eating whatever it was he got a hold of. From what he could see, it looked to be a bone from his Cornish hen, which he knew could cause severe internal damage should Crowley accidentally ingest a piece of it. As unpleasant as it was, he knew what he had to do.

“I wish I didn’t have to do this,” he said. Crowley barely had enough time to widen his eyes before Aziraphale grabbed hold of his mouth.

Crowley growled something that sounded a whole lot like “I will end you,” but Aziraphale couldn’t be sure since was still attempting to wrench the bone from between his teeth. Grabbing hold of both jaws and prying them open, he again demanded, “Spit it out!”

Crowley tried to shift to keep hold of his bone, which caused him to unintentionally nip Aziraphale with one of his canines. Aziraphale let go of him with a sharp cry.

“How dare you!” he shouted. “You...you...you bad dachshund!”

Crowley opened his mouth to apologise for biting his friend, and the bone fell to the ground. Aziraphale grabbed it at once and cut Crowley off before he could speak.

“I’ve had enough of you for the evening,” he said, chin in the air. “You can spend the rest of the night by yourself. Go to your room.”

Crowley wanted to say something about how he didn’t have a room, what with this being the bookshop and all, but thought better of it. He followed the finger Aziraphale was pointing somewhere down the hallway and found that his bed, water bowl, and toys had magically relocated to the bathroom. Tail tucked between his legs, he started down the path of shame. At one point, he couldn’t resist glancing back to see if Aziraphale was serious, and all he was met with was a stony glare.

“Not another word,” Aziraphale snapped, and for the first time, Crowley obeyed. He crawled into his bed, curled up in a ball, and poked his head out from under the blanket long enough to watch Aziraphale turn the lights off.

“ _You_ have a pleasant evening,” Aziraphale said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “while _I_ go tend to my injuries. Tomorrow we will have a serious discussion about your actions.” He shut the door without any further warning. In the darkness, Crowley found himself with two choices: think about his choices or go to sleep.

He was out in an instant.

* * *

The next morning, Aziraphale was in a better mood. He hadn’t forgotten about Crowley’s actions, and the two of them had enjoyed a long talk that involved Aziraphale doing his best to make Crowley feel guilty and Crowley not feeling much guilt at all. Finally, Aziraphale suggested they go for a walk, thinking that burning some of Crowley’s energy might cause him to calm down a bit.

Crowley had been all for it. A walk promised all sorts of sights and smells, and he was practically salivating at the thought of what mischief he could get up to. Until he realised it was raining, that is.

“Crowley, please. You agreed to this.” Aziraphale fussed with the boots he had purchased for Crowley, as Crowley was doing everything in his power to resist putting them on.

“I’m already wearing a stupid raincoat. I can’t believe you’d make me wear these as well.” Crowley mumbled, gnawing at a velcroed strap to demonstrate his displeasure.

“Oh do stop that,” Aziraphale huffed, pulling the offending boot back up. Crowley stared at him balefully.

“Please don’t make me do this, angel,” Crowley whined. “If I go out there looking like this, no one will ever respect me again. The image that I have spent 6,000 years curating will be dead. I’ll no longer be Flash Gordon in the Bentley but the sad sod in the wellies. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Aziraphale said nothing while he made sure that Crowley’s lead was properly attached to the collar. Crowley had done his best to convince Aziraphale that he could be trusted not to run off, but Aziraphale would hear none of it.

“Honestly, I’d put a lead on your human form if I could,” Aziraphale muttered. “Besides, I am sure there are instincts that you don’t even know you have right now. I’m not going to take the risk that one of those takes you away from me.”

If Crowley was moved by the statement, he didn’t show it. Aziraphale was fine with that, having understood that with a body so small, sometimes there wasn’t room for more than one very strong sentiment at once. But now, Crowley was managing to demonstrate two very distinct emotions: irritation and horror. He was irritated beyond belief that Aziraphale wouldn’t listen to him and absolutely horrified at the fact that the angel actually planned to take him outside looking like this. When it was raining, besides.

They made it just out the door before Aziraphale felt a good deal of resistance on the lead. Having been too wrapped up in getting out his umbrella, he hadn’t noticed that Crowley hadn’t been following.

“Come along then,” Aziraphale said, turning around and motioning to Crowley with his hand. “It’s just a little rain.”

Crowley remained rooted in place, looking down at his paws and then back at Aziraphale again.

“It’s freezing,” Crowley said, begging Aziraphale with his eyes. “And I’m getting drenched.”

“Oh do stop being ridiculous,” Aziraphale tutted. “It’s no worse than you’ve seen before. Aren’t you glad I splurged for the rain gear?” Aziraphale made a move to recommence the walk, although it was only the briefest of moments before he felt the tell-tale tug again.

Crowley remained in the same spot, rearing his head back. “I’m not going,” he said, and turned back around towards the bookshop. “It’s cold and wet and I hate this.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley, we are going to the park like we always do. You wouldn’t want to break tradition, would you? If the Apocalypse couldn’t keep us from St James’s, surely you’re not going to let a little change of pace like this stop it.”

“A little change of pace?” Crowley asked, incredulously. “I’m a dog, for Someone’s sake! An absolutely ridiculous, laughable, inconveniently preposterous looking dog. I mean, come on. The very existence of this disaster of a creature has to be evidence that She’s up there laughing at us. You thought the dinosaurs were a good joke, angel? They’re nothing compared to this.

“Besides,” he continued, “it isn’t as if I just can’t be bothered to take a walk. I’m getting soaked from both sides. Every time I take a step, I get water all over my chest. It’s awful.” He pulled at the lead again, this time more to make a show of how resolute he was in his decision rather than to effectively stop the angel from going anywhere.

To be honest, Aziraphale hadn’t considered that factor, having focused only on finding a sleek black coat that would cover Crowley’s entire back when he had been at the shop. It seemed he had forgotten about the front. He looked back at the small brown Crowley and once again wondered how a body that small could possibly contain so much stubbornness. Crowley likely contained the same amount of stubbornness as always, but perhaps the reduction in stature had concentrated it to such an extent that it felt more powerful than ever. Regardless, Aziraphale would not acquiesce to his demands. They were going for a nice walk, even if it took dragging Crowley whinging and crying the whole way. 

“Would it help if I do a little something to keep you dry?” he asked, holding up a hand and wiggling his fingers as he did so.

Crowley glared at him from under his hood, which Aziraphale took to mean yes. With a quick snap, he made it so that every step Crowley took would now be completely dry, from top to bottom.

“There. You should be tip-top now,” he said proudly.

Crowley took a few steps to test the waters (or lack thereof) and apparently deemed it acceptable, for the two of them were off again. They made it to the end of the block before Aziraphale felt the tug again and looked back, steeling himself for another outburst.

“Why do I still have to wear this stupid outfit if you can just miracle me dry?”

Aziraphale frowned. “That would be far too suspicious. Besides, I don’t want to be judged for not providing adequate protection for my companion.”

There was a long sigh from both parties, and the two of them were off again. There were a few more stops for Crowley to sniff things, a few more stops for Crowley to moan and demand he be taken back to the bookshop, and a few more stops for Aziraphale to redeploy Crowley’s boots, but they eventually made it to St James’s Park. Aziraphale was a bit dismayed at how long it had taken them to get there, but any negative feelings immediately evaporated when he saw their favourite bench open. After quickly warning the seat to keep dry, he sat down.

Crowley stared up at him. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, looking at the pond. “Entertain yourself. Let me know if there are any particularly delicious smelling leaves around here. Bark up a tree, although do take care to ensure that it isn’t the wrong one.” He chuckled, patently ignoring the glare leveled at him. “Do whatever it is that your kind is supposed to do.”

“My kind wants to join you on the bench,” Crowley said, looking at him expectantly. “Let me up.”

“Crowley, dear. You aren’t meant to be on the bench. You are meant to have a look around like your brethren are doing.” He motioned at the other dogs prowling around the park with their owners.

“They’re not my brethren,” he huffed. “But if you want me to behave like them, let me off the lead.” Crowley tugged at it for emphasis. “I’ll be good.”

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale retorted. “The sign says that all dogs must remain on a lead. I am not about to break the rules.”

“,” Crowley whined, pulling more insistently. “Just use a tiny miracle so that nobody has to notice. It’s not like I’m really a dog anyway. I’m a demon in dog form. A hellhound, if you will. I guarantee that sign isn’t meant for hellhounds.”

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale said. “Rules are rules. Now sit down and behave yourself for a bit. If you’re good, I’ll take you down to the pond later.”

“I’ll show _you_ the pond,” Crowley rumbled.

Aziraphale ignored him, pulling out a book from only She knows where. The book was not one of his first, second, or even third editions—he wouldn’t risk them in the rain, of course—but it was something he had wanted to read for a while. He settled in, pleased that Crowley had finally stopped pestering him. Unfortunately, he only managed two pages before he heard a child’s delighted shriek and the sound of splashing.

His heart sank, for he knew the culprit even before he looked down at the lead. An empty collar hung from the end, having done its best to contain that which could not be contained. Aziraphale said a quick prayer for strength before looking up.

“He’s chasing the ducks!” the child laughed, pointing at a small brown blur splashing around in the water. Crowley zipped away at a speed Aziraphale hadn’t even known the demon possessed. Although it was logically impossible, he could have sworn that the dog was going faster than the Bentley. Crowley made a beeline for the ducks, though how he managed to keep his head above water despite his short stature was a mystery. The ducks, having noticed the small brown fiend approaching them at an alarming rate, commenced flapping and squawking all over the place in an attempt to distance themselves.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried, setting his book gently to the side before rushing down to the water. “Get out of there this instant!”

Crowley continued racing through the pond, barking and sloshing water as he did. A crowd of onlookers had gathered around, some laughing while others obviously judging whoever had been so careless as to flagrantly ignore the rules. Aziraphale felt more than a few glares on him as he called out again, and he had to tamp down the urge to tell them he had been played for a sucker by a demon.

“Crowley! Leave the water this instant!” Then, wailing helplessly, “We had an _arrangement_.” To his credit, Crowley turned around at the sound and began trotting pleasantly towards the grass again. Whether this was because he had his fill of the ducks or because he was listening to Aziraphale was another matter completely.

“I cannot believe you,” Aziraphale said as Crowley approached. “I cannot believe you would embarrass me in front of all these people. Have you no _shame_?” He was about to turn back and grab his umbrella from the bench (and retreat from the crowd) when he noticed a large feathery shadow looming behind Crowley. In that same instant, he realised in horror that a hissing goose had a bone to pick with his friend. As Crowley turned back to face his attacker with a courage far greater than advisable for his size, the goose lunged.

Aziraphale was there in an instant, standing between the goose and Crowley. The goose, who had been mid-lunge, was perplexed to find his mouth full of damp woolen trousers instead of a small damp tail.

“I think it is for the best if you didn’t do that,” Aziraphale admonished icily, imbuing his words with the slightest tinge of angelic persuasion. “It’s not quite fair to take advantage of him when there is such a difference in size between the two of you. Do go back to whatever you were doing, and leave my Crowley alone. I assure you that he will be properly dealt with.”

There was something in the angel’s eyes just now, and any creature on the planet knew better than to provoke him. Sheepishly letting go of the fabric, the goose decided that Crowley was no longer worth the effort. It waddled hurriedly back to the mundane safety of the pond and its fellow geese, warning them to stay away from the tiny beast and its deceptively soft companion.

When Aziraphale was satisfied that the goose was gone, he whirled around and grabbed Crowley immediately. Although some part of him knew that he would deeply regret getting mud all over his waistcoat and jacket, it was more important to him in that moment to get Crowley out of harm’s way. And if he wanted to get out of the accusatory eyes of so many onlookers, who could blame him?

Crowley, knowing that he was in for it, didn’t even struggle in Aziraphale’s grasp. Although if you asked him whether or not it was worth it, his answer would be a simple “Hell yes.”

* * *

“I do hope you’re pleased with yourself.” Aziraphale sat in the driver’s seat of the Bentley,[4] glaring at the small basket where Crowley attempted to feign sleep. 

“My coat is ruined, and my shop is a mess,” he continued. “I will never be able to look at another dachshund again without feeling a sense of antipathy towards it. You’ve managed to turn me off the whole breed.” 

Crowley sighed and turned towards the window away from Aziraphale’s glare.

“Would you _please_ stop doing that?” Aziraphale asked, letting out a sigh of his own. “I am just as unhappy with the situation as you are, but I don’t feel the need to keep voicing it.”

“But you are, in fact, voicing it,” Crowley grumbled. Aziraphale shot him a blistering glare, and Crowley just burrowed further into the basket.

To say that Adam Young was surprised by the sudden appearance of an angel and demon on his street would be undermining his aptitude for predicting the course of events. His residual powers and general proximity to a certain witch meant that he was often at least subconsciously aware of an impending storm before it rolled in. However, when he saw Aziraphale’s face as he exited the car, he realised that he may have misjudged the angel’s reaction to what was supposed to be a simple bet.

“Hello, Aziraphale!” he said, a bit too much brightness in his voice. “What brings you here?”

In a surprising display of rudeness, Aziraphale didn’t greet the boy. Instead, he headed directly to the other side of the Bentley, gathered up Crowley, and deposited the dog-and-basket combination unceremoniously at the boy’s feet.

The former hellhound trotted over, but when he attempted to sniff Crowley, he was met with bared teeth.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Crowley threatened. 

“Stop it, Dog,” Adam said, voice flat, and Dog obeyed. 

“Stop it, Crowley. You are being rude,” Aziraphale tried, infusing his voice with as much of a commanding presence as he could muster. Crowley ignored him and kept glaring at Dog.

“I’m sure you can see the issue now,” Aziraphale said, gesturing towards Crowley. Then, noticing that Crowley was inching towards Dog with a fiery look in his eyes, snatched him up. “I can’t get him to listen for anything.”

“That’s pretty customary in those types, I think,” Adam said. He scratched the side of his nose for a moment, lost in thought. “Mister Crowley didn’t explain this to you?”

“ _Mister_ Crowley did not,” Aziraphale said, eyes boring into the brown lump in the basket. “I was given no indication of what was to happen until _Mister_ Crowley suddenly appeared like this on my doorstep.”

Adam looked down at Crowley and tilted his head. “He doesn’t look so bad to me. I’m sure you’ll have it sorted in a few days.”

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale paused, straightening his waistcoat and delicately choosing his next words. “As much as I adore him, I’m afraid that my continuing to take care of him like this will irreparably damage our relationship. I do think that this is for the best. I’ll be back to pick him up as soon as this mess is sorted.”

He gave a firm nod to Adam, a quick glare to Crowley, and turned back to the car. Crowley poked his snout out of the basket and peered up at Adam, breaking into a toothy grin that conveyed just how much he was looking forward to ruining the Antichrist’s weekend. Dog whined and hid behind Adam’s legs.

Aziraphale was at the car when Adam caught up with him, basket in hand and Dog trailing behind. “Mister Aziraphale,” he said, eyes wide. “I can’t take care of another dog. My dad didn’t even want me to keep the one I’ve got.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what to tell you, my dear lad,” Aziraphale said, climbing into the Bentley. “We seem to be at an impasse. I simply cannot take him back with me.”

He moved to shut the door behind him, and Adam reached out to grab it. “Wait—” he said at a slightly higher register than normal. “I can’t have a hellhound and a demon in the same place. Who knows what they’ll get up to?”

“I thought Dog was a good listener,” Aziraphale said, raising his eyebrows.

“He is. Of course he is!” Adam insisted. “He’s the best listener out there!”

“Then I fail to see the problem. Good day.” Aziraphale made to shut the door again, but Adam didn’t budge.

“What if Mister Crowley is a bad influence?” he implored. “Who knows what kind of trouble they’ll get into together? What if they summon more demons? What if they band together to take over the pond? I don’t have enough powers to control the both of them anymore.”

“Perhaps you should have considered that before making this bet,” Aziraphale said. “I refuse to take him back with me in that form. He is a _menace_.”

Crowley barked at that, though whether it was in agreement or anger, Aziraphale didn’t know.

“Please, just take him, and I’ll never make a bet like this again,” Adam pleaded, placing the basket on the ground and gently pushing it in Aziraphale’s direction. “He can’t stay here. My parents will kill me.”

Aziraphale pretended to ponder this, rubbing his chin for good measure, before turning back to Adam. “I will take him back under one condition,” he said. “Turn him back, and we will never speak of this again.”

Adam paled. “I can’t do that either. We made a bet, and I can’t go back on a bet. Pepper, Brian, ‘n Wensleydale will never take me seriously again if I do.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Well, my dear boy, that is rather unfortunate. Luckily for you, it will only be for a few days more.” He turned back to the steering wheel and moved to shut the door again. “Do let me know if there is anything else I can do for you until then.”

Adam looked down at Crowley, who had started to creep his way out of the basket and in the direction of a ginger cat that happened to wander onto the scene. As soon as the basket tipped over, Adam made up his mind to do whatever it took to get rid of him.

“Fine,” he said, grabbing Crowley and holding him out to Aziraphale. “I’ll change him back. But only because it’s what is best for Dog.”

Aziraphale’s face broke out into another one of his thousand-watt smiles. “Oh, thank you so much, Adam! That would be a most welcome favour.”

Adam said nothing, choosing instead to focus on Crowley. Aziraphale set him on the ground, and within a few moments, Crowley was in his human-adjacent corporation and back to his usual slinky, dramatic self.[5]

Crowley carefully brushed the nonexistent dirt from his trousers and stood up. He turned to Aziraphale, gave him his most cheeky smile, and greeted him with a “hey, angel."

Unfortunately, he had misjudged the extent to which he had annoyed Aziraphale. This became clear when the response he received was a door slammed in his face. 

“Thank you again, Adam!” Aziraphale called through the open window, waving eagerly. “And you,” he said, eyes narrowing at Crowley. “ _Do_ take care getting home.”

Crowley barely had time to call out an apology before Aziraphale and the Bentley were off, leaving him in the dust. He turned to Adam and gave him his most chilly glare, which should have had more of an impact due to the lack of sunglasses. However, Adam had just faced down one very irate angel and wasn’t in the mood to be intimidated further.

He offered Crowley an apologetic look. “I’ll tell Mum and Dad you’re joining us for dinner.”

* * *

Aziraphale wasn’t surprised that Crowley found his way back to the bookshop, but he was a little shocked that Crowley dropped by so soon. Surely he knew that it took more than a day for Aziraphale to recover from his horrid behaviour.

Apparently, Crowley did not know this, as was evident by his waving frantically from outside the window.

Aziraphale pretended not to see him at first and turned back to the stacks of books he was reorganising. It only took a few moments before he heard the front doors jangling, as if someone tried to open them. Luckily, that someone knew better than to try and force his way in.

The racket briefly disappeared, but Aziraphale knew better than to claim victory. Sure enough, the silence was followed with a not-so-gentle rapping at his window.

“C’mon angel,” Crowley called. “We both know you’re going to forgive me eventually. Why don’t we just speed up the process?”

Aziraphale continued to ignore him while the rapping got louder. Eventually it turned into a knocking, coupled with vague claims of “I said I was sorry!” and “I’m apologising here!” 

After a few minutes of this, Aziraphale had had enough. He walked over to the window and made direct eye contact with Crowley.

“I knew you’d come around eventually,” Crowley said with a cheeky grin.

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed,” Aziraphale deadpanned. Then, to Crowley’s chagrin, he lowered the shades. 

* * *

Crowley knew better than to make the same mistake twice. He tried again the next day, this time with dessert from Aziraphale’s favourite bakery in hand.

“Angel,” he called from outside the doors of the bookshop. “I’ve brought you something!”

Aziraphale opened the door just enough to poke his head out. “How may I help you?” he asked in a tone so scathing that it took Crowley a moment to realize it was directed at him and not a customer attempting to buy something.

“Nyuhh,” he stammered. Then he thrust the package into Aziraphale’s direction. “For you. An apology of sorts.”

“Oh, this looks delightful!” Aziraphale said, sounding much more welcoming than he had a moment ago. He took the box and nodded at Crowley. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” Crowley said. “Now can I come in?”

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale responded. “But thank you, nonetheless.”

Crowley didn’t have time to protest before the door shut in his face. Then, seeing no better way to appease his anger, he stormed off towards St James’s Park to seek revenge on a certain goose.

* * *

“Look, I know you’re mad at me, but this is getting ridiculous,” Crowley called once again from outside Aziraphale’s window. “Can’t you just talk to me?”

He heard no response, which he considered an improvement over an outright “no.” Then, steeling himself, he tried the doors to the shop and was surprised to find them open. However, he was not prepared for the furry black dog seated in front of the counter. Aziraphale was currently petting it while he chatted with what Crowley presumed to be the owner.

“You’re letting _dogs_ in your shop now?” he asked, incredulous.

“Only extraordinarily well-behaved ones. Charlie is an incredible example,” Aziraphale retorted. He turned to face Crowley, then followed it up with, “And seeing as how you’ve done nothing to convince me that you are a member of this group, I should rather like you to leave.”

“Really, angel? You’re choosing a dog over me? Your best friend of 6,000 years?” He scoffed at Charlie’s owner then added, “I’ll have you know that I’m really not as bad as he’s making me out to be.”

She shrugged apologetically, while Aziraphale directed his attention back to the dog. “It looks like _somebody_ is doing a much better job of living up to his role of man’s best friend,” he said, scratching Charlie behind the ears. “You have been a delight, my dear fellow. One of the best examples of the species I have seen in a while.”

Crowley spluttered in protest while Aziraphale continued to heap Charlie with praise. He reached his limit when Aziraphale asked the one thing, _the one thing_ Crowley had been dying to hear the whole time he was a dog.

“Who’s a good boy?” Aziraphale said, scratching the pup behind the ears. 

The dog wagged its tail happily, and Crowley stormed out of the shop with his proverbial tail between his legs. 

* * *

As much fun as it was to frustrate his dear friend, Aziraphale was beginning to miss Crowley’s presence. He had made the decision several days ago to forgive Crowley the next time he came by. Unfortunately, Crowley hadn’t dropped by for an entire week, and Aziraphale was growing concerned. It wasn’t like him to give up so easily.

When another lunch came and went with him seeing neither hide nor hair of the demon, Aziraphale resolved to reach out. It wouldn’t do to go another seventy-five years without speaking again, especially now that they were on their own side. Just because they had all the time in the world didn’t mean Aziraphale wanted to waste another day apart.

Apparently Crowley had come to the same conclusion, for just as Aziraphale reached for the telephone, he heard a knock at the door.

“Come in!” he called brightly. “It’s unlocked.”

“I can’t,” came a muffled voice. “My hands’re full.”

Aziraphale’s heart leapt for a second as he considered what this might mean, but it came crashing down almost immediately. He’d had the same thought just a few days ago before discovering that his best friend had been turned into a housepet.[6]

He gingerly opened the door and looked down, wary of being greeted again by a small brown face. Instead, he saw Crowley standing at the bottom, arms overflowing with books.

Aziraphale squealed with delight when he saw A. A. Milne’s _Now We Are Six_ on top. “Crowley, you didn’t!” he gasped.

Crowley just grunted as he followed Aziraphale into the shop. He set the pile on top of a nearby stack and let out a small “oof” as he found himself in the arms of his dear angel.

Aziraphale mumbled a chorus of thank yous into Crowley’s collar, and Crowley gripped him tightly back. When the angel finally let go, presumably to inspect his new wares, Crowley cleared his throat to get his attention once again.

“I forgot the best part,” Crowley said, whipping out a tartan dish towel. “Ta-da!”

Aziraphale looked confused, and Crowley added, “To make up for whatever happened to your other one, of course.”

Aziraphale shook his head fondly and went back to his books. There were so many first editions he hadn’t even seen yet, let alone had in his possession.

“Crowley,” he started, a voice dripping with affection, “you really didn’t have to do this.”

“Of course I did!” Crowely grinned. “How else was I going to get out of the doghouse?”

**Author's Note:**

> 1 “And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; he will crush your head, and you will strike his heel.” [return to text]
> 
> 2 He neglected to tell Aziraphale that his friends were, in fact, an army of rats that he unleashed upon Mr. Tyler’s house. [return to text]
> 
> 3 Aziraphale was new to the noble dachshund, as evinced by the fact that he still believed they would do what they were told.[return to text]
> 
> 4 Fortunately, the car was capable of driving itself, since Aziraphale was determined, quite literally, to never let dachshund Crowley out of his sight again. [ return to text ]
> 
> 5 Aziraphale would later argue that the only major departure from his dachshund form was the fact that Crowley was now a bipedal who could do miracles. [ return to text ]
> 
> 6A different sort than usual. [ return to text ]


End file.
